Tethered
by AlphaKantSpell
Summary: A tether can strengthen, keep two together through any storm. Or it can leash one to the other, denying them freedom. The answer is in how the bond is used. Pol Lavellan's story told predominantly through Cullen's POV, though other characters make an appearance. WIP, no beta, and spoiler ridden.
1. Chapter 1

**Through the Smoke**

The moments after the conclave's eruption were spent in abject terror.

Pain and fear tainted the sky like heavy rain. Cullen's breath stole from him. He didn't have time for disbelief, not after the Chantry in Kirkwall. While those around him still gaped, Cullen gathered what men would listen to his bark and began to search the rubble. There'd been a woman at the center. Perhaps they could yet salvage this.

Demons spilled into the air. Rage oozed thickly across the ice and terror writhed about. Despair lunged for Cullen and he cleaved it without pause. He'd lived through demonic invasion and he would survive again.

Cassandra cut her way to him, sword and shield stained in ichors. Worse was her face, eyes wide and desperate and her mouth a broken snarl. The demons flocked to her. Cullen's veins stung when he tried to smite them off. Without lyrium he was cut off from abilities that were second nature. It felt like taking a step that had always been there to find it gone, spinning into nothing.

No matter. He knew how to wield a weapon and that mattered more than any hindrance. His sword feeling heavier than ever, he hacked his way to her.

"There were two women in the center," Cassandra panted when the last demon was slain.

"It was Andraste," said one of the men. Everyone's eyes went to him and if anything, it bolstered him. "I'm sure it was Andraste. I saw her reaching out to the other woman."

Cassandra's eyes met Cullen's but he didn't have time to dissect it. They had to push on. There were survivors to rescue, rebel mages to corner and the tare in the sky was only growing.

"Have you seen Leliana yet?"

"She may be at the center," said Cassandra's dwarf, Tethras. "I wouldn't put it past her to already be at the bottom of this."

He was trying to make light of the situation but Cullen saw the same consuming fear in him as in everyone else. Only, he waded through it better. Cullen reminded himself that Tethras had been in Kirkwall, too. He was Hawke's friend. He knew as well as Cullen what it was to live through the utter destruction of a sacred place, even if this was so much worse.

All too soon they were at what was left of the temple. Tethras swore. Cassandra made a sound that attracted another despair demon. His men faltered but Cullen marched through, seeing the melted corpses and rubble and yet not at all. Kinloch had prepared him for this. He visited this destruction every night and it would not pull him from his path.

They found her at the center; rock scorched black and highlighted green by the rift. An elf. Stumbling in the rubble. There was no sign of another woman. When Cullen's men got to her she collapsed like she'd been struck dead. Cullen went to her. The elf was breathing but it was faint and without rhythm. She was rail thin, the whole of her thick as a sapling. And she was cold. Her hair was cut almost to her scalp, a widow's peak at the front. Neither protected her from the snow of the Frostback Mountains. Her skin was tanned, almost too dark to see the spattering of freckles against her sharp cheeks. They were even harder to see against the black tattoos that marked her face, twisting like vines from forehead to chin. Dalish.

What was a Dalish doing in the middle of negotiations between Templers and Rebel Mages?

"Do you see anyone else?" Cassandra demanded.

"No one Ser," answered one of the men. ". . .No one alive, Ser."

"We must take her in for questioning," Cassandra said. The edge to her voice might well have been a blade.

"Because that's worked so well for you in the past," Tethras grumbled out. The Seeker turned on him and was about to say more when the elf struggled in Cullen's grasp. At first he thought she was waking but her body convulsed, the cut on her hand flaring bright green and –

Magic. Ancient magic. Even without lyrium, Cullen recognized the wild, primal touch of it. He all but dropped the elf, instincts jarring him to move, to take his sword and put an end to the foreign magic before it could do harm. Cassandra had her sword drawn, though not on the elf. Not the glowing elf in any case.

"Wait! She is the solution to the breach!" called a second elf, this one wrapped in dark robes that hooded his head. He was sprinting down into the rubble, tone more incessant than worried. It put Cullen on edge, as did the woman, her cut pulsing again as the – breach? – roared and expanded.

"Another apostate?" The distain in Cassandra's voice was unhelpful. They needed to be level here.

"Yes, and one who can help." The second elf came to them and pulled away his hood, revealing narrow eyes and an expression only very wise Senior Enchanters bore. It was that expression that had Cullen relaxing his sword from the woman's throat. If anyone could make sense of this, he could.

. . .

As Cassandra led the party down to Haven with their new prisoners, Cullen stayed behind with his men to cull the demon horde. It was a losing battle. For every one they slew, five more came through the veil and his men were being decimated. Their force wasn't strong to begin with. They'd only just started recruiting men for their unofficial Inquisition. They couldn't lose everyone – not like this. So they were pushed back, and back, and back into the valley.

The breach was expanding and there was no news from Cassandra. His men were being butchered at this point. There was no denying it. Cullen dug in his heels and refused to be moved again. He would not flee. He would endure this invasion.

Then the air lit with magic again and a barrier was cast over him. Green light sang over him, light and warm as a blanket that had been heated by a fire. Cullen's knees buckled with his relief. The barrier extended to the men closest to him, one of which had a demon's claws at his throat. It bounced back, his soldier completely unharmed. In the next moment Cassandra was there, bulldozing the demon over, the barrier over her too.

As he fought, Cullen caught glimpses of the woman, fighting in the front like any warrior, her staff bursting harsh colored magic point blank at the demons. It seemed a poor tactical decision but Cullen could not deny her efficiency and brute will.

Just as the barrier started to flag she cast it again, energy renewed and singing. Under its comfort Cullen became aware of his aches and injuries that he'd been ignoring with adrenaline. He was exhausted.

The last demon in the area was slain and Cassandra came to him. Cullen forced himself straight but she could see the weariness in him. At least he was better than when she'd found him in Kirkwall.

Cassandra explained the situation in short breaths. Cullen gathered what men he had left and hurried them back to safety. The mage – Lavellan? – cast another barrier over them. It smelled of ozone, as most magic did. With so many castings the scent was almost overwhelming but knowing he and his men were safe for a few minutes more outweighed any annoyance. He nodded to the mage and she back before the party moved forward.


	2. Chapter 2

** An Understanding**

"They're calling you the Herald of Andraste. What do you make of that?"

She looked so different out of battle. The soothing energy she's given on the field was erased by a stoic expression to rival Cassandra's that would give way to levity and humor in odd moments. Her magic was different, too. Understated, like scent of a dried herb that lost its potency. She'd walked past more than a few ex-templars who didn't react to her magic at all. Either her skills were severely underdeveloped or she was very good at concealing her abilities.

Either case was dangerous.

Aside from that, physically she was different from how he remembered her. Her tattoos were dark, yes, but hard to make out from a distance. And the narrowness of her eyes made her whole face look dark and closed off, though she smiled and had laughter to her voice that put others at ease as soon as she spoke. If you didn't know who she was, she slipped into a crowd and went unnoticed. He supposed that was why she'd been originally sent as a spy to investigate the conclave. He couldn't imagine any other reason to send a Dalish mage into the heart of Andrastian territory.

"I don't know what to make of it."

Well, that was neither here nor there. He supposed he must applaud her for her caution but undefined answers irritated him. It was easier to understand how a person thought when they gave clear signs.

"What about in relation to your gods?" Josephine asked, her smile pleasant but her eyes sharp. Cullen made a note never to underestimate an Antivan politician. "Many will talk about the fact you are Dalish. It will help if we know your official stance."

Lavellan shifted, her boots scuffing the floor. Cullen had a bizarre thought that she might be uncomfortable. Dalish walked around without shoes. That's what all the stories said in any case. By the crop of her hair and the tan on her cheeks, Cullen estimated her home to be somewhere in the Northern Marches with a hot, muggy climate. What impression did she have of Ferelden, aside from cold and dark?

After the Blight and now the Conclave, Cullen doubted anyone would count Ferelden as a destination hot spot.

Lavellan shrugged and her tone was becoming wary. "I don't know. I believe the old gods existed. How else do you account for our history? Our world? But I've never been one to pray to them."

"Oh?" If Josephine was trying to keep the curiosity out of her voice she'd failed utterly.

"I'd rather focus on what needs to be done."

"I…I didn't mean to insult-"

"No, Lady Montilyait? Was it? No insult taken. As you can imagine, my belief wins me few friends in any circle. But I do think our focus can be better spent on what we need to accomplish for the Inquisition."

A quick pause. Leliana watched the Harold, no doubt her mind working how she would pry the information from her. Josephine still looked uncomfortable but Cullen couldn't help but admire the woman's practicality. They all needed to focus on what had to be done.

"In any case," he began. "We have assignments we would like you to look into, ways of gaining recognition for our cause."

"Alright, what are they?"

Cullen offered his stack of papers, Josephine carefully putting her own into place. Lavellan stared at them to a point that became awkward before accepting the papers. Josephine watched between the two of them as Lavellan started to read. Another long pause. Cullen noticed that Lavellan's eyes traced the page but flitted about. She wasn't actually reading.

". . .Is there a problem?"

Her eyes flicked to his and at first he thought she was angry, with how narrow her stare was, but he realized by the faint color of her cheeks she was embarrassed.

"I can't read. Not common. Not well enough." Her tone was direct but flat.

Oh. Oh how dimwitted of him. In the circle all mages and templars were taught to read. Even before joining the order, Cullen came from a well enough family that taught him at a young age. He knew it was a privilege. Half his own soldiers couldn't read. That was why art was so important in the Chantry. But somehow he'd never imagined someone so important as the _Harold of Andraste_ being unable to read.

"A simple solution, then," Lileana spoke up. "We will explain the assignments to you and you can reference them later at your own pace."

She nodded once, her cheer from earlier gone. Her gaze was hard as she stared at the papers before setting them aside.

"I would be happy to teach you," Cullen said. The girls looked between each other but Cullen focused on the Harold. "In your off hours. I've helped recruits learn as part of my training in the Order. I'm sure we can scrounge up a few books if you don't want to stare at those papers all day."

"That would be helpful." Her voice was breathless, far from the confidence she'd had moments ago. She looked so _young_. In battle she'd felt ageless. Cullen felt a pang of _something_ at that but he wasn't sure what. Lelianan coughed to regain their attention before explaining her own reports. Lavellan's stance gained her usual poise and this time Cullen would make sure he wasn't blindly ignorant again.

. . .

"Hey Commander, taking a break any time soon?" Cullen recognized Varric's voice and the weariness of it. He turned from his men, breaking their drills as instructed as sunset turned the snow around them gold. Wind and ice blew together in bothersome swirls. It was going to be a cold night, like the one before it and the one before that. The rift in the sky stole any cloud cover so nights were colder than they'd been before. And Ferelden was always freezing, even further north.

Cullen was thankful for the coat Leliana had commissioned for him. Its original purpose was to add bulk to him so the Commander of the Inquisition wouldn't be so gaunt. When Cassandra found him he was deep into withdrawal and weighed all of a hundred ponds. The months following Meredith's incomplete Annulment of the Circle were hard on everyone. Most of the templars were dead, more gone to follow war. What mages remained in Kirkwall were old or injured, more terrified of life outside their established home than any of the horrors within it. He wasn't sure which option was more pitiful.

He stopped taking lyrium almost at once. Whenever he wavered on that decision he would look at Meredith's frozen horror and his tremors would stop. He would not allow himself to become that. By will alone if he had to, he would endure the pain. Too much he'd survived to let that become his end.

Between withdrawal, working without rest to rebuild the Circle and the shambles of Kirkwall, giving his rations to those who needed it more, Cullen lost most of his muscle mass and all of his fat. It had been won back in the months leading to when the Inquisition was officially announced but the hunger pains never quite went away.

Some days looked back at the wraith of a man he'd been then and couldn't believe Cassandra had chosen him to lead. When he asked she said it was something about his eyes. Despite how dark they were, he was the only one in Kirkwall with hope still left. Cullen believed in a better day. He had to.

"Guess it's been _way_ over break time if it takes you this long to answer," Varric teased, calling Cullen from his thoughts to face the dwarf.

"My apologies. Was there something specific you wanted?" After training, Cullen went over his notes for the next day with the war room. After everything was in order, sometime after dinner was served for the men, Lavellan would come to his office and they practiced her reading.

She was making progress, though not as fast as she wanted. Twice he'd had to have her leave early because of the nervous energy she radiated while struggling with the texts. Ordinarily the mage was calm and far more collected than anyone else in Haven. She saw a task that needed to be done and accomplished it without fanfare.

For the first few days she was doing the tasks of a servant because no one realized she was the Harold and Lavellan didn't think herself too big for any job. Cassandra found her cleaning chamber pots and screamed herself horse at the staff. Leliana had to escort her out and Josephine spoke with everyone involved about racial assumptions. It was a nightmare and they were entirely lucky Cullen hadn't been there. He took Lavellan aside the moment he saw her and demanded to know if anyone else had been mistreating her. She was relentlessly vague but he recognized from himself when someone was shouldering an issue.

He decided not to press it and focus on her reading, the one activity Lavellan had no patience for. Not for the first time he wished she'd been found by a Chantry so that she could have the basic training Circle Mages were required.

But, of course, then she might have been one of the Rebel Mages they were fighting in The Hinterlands.

The Maker intended it to be this way. Cullen had to stop snagging on 'what if' and put his energy into the present, Varric Tethras included.

The dwarf had his eyebrows raised at him. "Varric's just fine. I hear Tethras and start checking over my shoulder for the family. Thought we could get a drink together. Catch up."

Catch up? He'd never thought of them as more than acquaintances.

Wait. . .wait was he being flirted with? Cullen had always been clumsy with this.

No, it was better not to think about. Besides, if Tethras. . .Varric was with anyone, he would be with Hawke.

"I make it a priority not to go to the tavern." He tried not to sound like he was whining.

"Oh, it'll be fun. Loosen up some, Commander. Music, drink, fine women. . .Okay, mostly peasant girls but peasant girls are more enthusiastic than city girls anyway."

No. He didn't want to talk about this. Oh, this was uncomfortable. "I make it a priority so that my men can enjoy themselves. I would imagine they would find it difficult to relax with their Commander skulking about."

"Hmm, not skulking so much as looming. Like a predator about to strike."

He eyed the dwarf. "Regardless, you see my point."

Varric scratched at his neck. "Okay, yeah. How about your place then? Or, hell, right here."

Cullen's cheeks were _not_ heated. Not at all.

"I . . . No, sorry. I'm not, uh, interested. I would prefer we stayed friends."

"Stay. . .? Oh, Andraste's Deaf Uncle, no! Not what I meant. Besides, I'm pretty sure you've already caught someone else's eye. No I just wanted to talk. Listen, this came out wrong, but I've never been this far from Kirkwall before and well. . ."

Ah. "You're homesick."

Varric glared. "Yeah, I suppose you could call it that." He took a breath and tried again. "I'm gonna be sticking around for a while. The Harold and I already talked about me staying and I just want to know the main players better. This whole end of the world thing is easier to handle when I know the people around me."

"Forgive me for my unkindness," Cullen said at once. "I've had to leave my homeland due to wretched circumstance. It's a pain that isn't easy to understand unless you've expierenced it."

"Like the whole world is wrong," Varric muttered. "Seems stupid to be thinking about that when so many people died but damn it, I miss the _Hanged Man_. Had a room there and a tap. Never intended to but I spent most of a decade in that room."

Cullen laughed. "That's the tavern in Lowtown, yes? Had to fetch recruits from there all the time, sloshed over a table."

"They were terrible at cards! Our friends rang them out for all their coin every time but they still came back." Varric glowed as he talked, pulling Cullen into one of his stories about misbehaving templar recruits. Neither of them mentioned how most of those men were dead now, bones being picked over in a field. Neither did they talk about the Qunari invasion or the end of Kirkwall. They focused on the putrid smell of the docks, how static the weather always was, and how you could get someone to play Wicked Grace with you no matter their class status.

They moved to Varric's fire in the village, laughing well into the night. Cassandra came by at one point but didn't bother interrupting, both men in an undeniable giggle fit. Cullen hadn't felt this light in weeks. Years. Ever? Had he ever had this much fun? He wasn't even drunk, though Varric had a bottle of something foul smelling. All at once Cullen wished Lavellan was here, that she could enjoy this.

"She has such a serious expression," Cullen sighed, kicking snow aside. His legs were aching and he wanted to sit but he wasn't about to lay in the ice.

"Who? The Seeker."

"No. Well, yes, her too. The Herald, Lavellan. She's always frowning."

"Who? Pol?" Right. Lavellan's first name. It was hard for him to remember. Hardly sounded like a name at all. "Are you sure we're talking about the same woman? Pol's always smiles and jokes with me."

Huh. "Is she really?" Maybe she didn't like humans. Well that was a shame. At least they could still work together professionally. "One of Hawke's friend is Dalish, yes?"

"Daisy? I think the _vallaslin_ on her face would be a giveaway."

Vallaslin? "Is that was the tattoos are called. I'm afraid I don't know much about the Dalish. Elves in the tower were city born. Now and again a rogue Dalish was sent from their clan or a child was found but they never did well."

A memory fell on him, of a girl, no older than Cullen's youngest sister when he left to join the Order, screaming in his arms. She babbled in a language he didn't understand and her cries were so broken that they hurt right through his chest. She refused to eat, screaming, '_Mamae! Mame Mamae_!' till one of the tranquil took her.

"Well, you've got a Dalish right here that you see on a regular basis. Why don't you just ask her."

Cullen eyed him like he'd said something lewd. "Because I'd rather not blunder through conversations insulting her."

"Just give her that earnest face you've got right now. No one can be offended by that face."

Varric was drunk. He should give his good night and head back to his office. There was work to be done but the dwarf had information Cullen needed. Apparently Pol. . .Lavellan joked with him. He couldn't talk about this is any of the advisors. His gut coiled at the thought of what Lileana would do with this information. And Cassandra was too blunt for this kind of conversation. Varric had been friends with a Dalish for seven years. He must know something that could help him.

"I don't want to be indelicate in regards to her culture. I was hoping your friendship with this Daisy could help me understand better."

"Well, for starters, there no such thing as a typical Dalish. And secondly, Daisy isn't a good candient to compare other Dalish to. She got kicked out of her clan. Like Pol was."

Varric sobered as soon as the words were out. He and Cullen stared at each other across the fire and knew at once he wasn't supposed to have known that.

She was kicked out of her clan? Before, when she spoke of her faith, was that the reason? She didn't pray to their gods so they sent her away? Or was it another reason, perhaps because of her magic?

"Shit. Shit. You didn't hear that from me. Lileana told you. I'm sure she knows, anyway. Doubt there's much that woman doesn't know."

"What does Lileana know?" Lavella asked, jumping down to their level. Varric visibly jumped and Cullen breathed hard through his nose.

How much of that had she heard?

In the glow of the firelight, Lavellan's markings had an ethereal quality to them. She wore a hood, her noose red from the cold. Her fingers were vibrating from shivering but she didn't look miserable as he'd expect from one shaking so much. She was happy. There was a bubble of joy about her as she warmed her hands by the fire. Varric made room for her and cleared his throat.

"We were talking about how Lileana knows the cliff hanger ending to my newest novel. See, with mysteries you write the ending first to know where it all leads and our dear Sister Nightingale caught a peek at my blueprints. Now I'll have to write a whole new story."

"Aw, such a shame," Lavellan cooed back. "At least you were just at the blueprint stage."

"Hey, it was going to be a great book."

"It still could be. I can talking to Lileana about keeping that secret hushed."

"Nah, don't trouble yourself. It'll be better with the re-write anyway."

Cullen tried not to stare but they were making it hard. There she was, smiling and laughing and he couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. Why were things so different with them? Why could he never find anything to say?

Lavellan caught his eye across the fire and it was the same look she'd been giving him for more than a week.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. We have an early morning upon us. Varric, I suggest you get some shut eye. It will take a few days to get to the Hinterlands and you'll want to make sure everything is packed."

"Yeah, yeah, see you in the morning, Warrior." She laughed _again_ and was gone.

Varric sighed and stared at the fire like he wanted to hop into it.

"See? Like that. She frowned at me."

"Pff. Curly, that's not frowning." When Varric didn't elaborate further Cullen gathered himself to leave. Varric took another big slog of his drink and said, "She's undressing you with her eyes. Congratulation Commander, the Herald of Andraste finds you attractive."


	3. Chapter 3

**Red Hart**

There was a stirring through Haven as the Red Hart was delivered. Despite all the unbelievable occurrences over the past few weeks the sight of one of the Halla's kin was still something supernatural to common folk. They clambered over each other to get a look at the beast. Deer were a common enough sight but a stag like this? Suddenly no one bothered to look up at the gaping hole in the sky. Cullen's soldiers halted their drills to peer at the beast as it was led up the mountainside. Blacksmiths stopped hammering and several merchants all but ignored their wares.

Naturally the Hart panicked.

To be fair, the best had been agitated its whole journey. Cullen could see that in the way the animal moved, ears down, steps clipped and heavier than necessary. It was making a stance that was going unnoticed. Hot breath left angry steam in the cold air. One of Josephine's people who had been instructed to retrieve the Hart was at her wits end. She pulled the leash, encouraging the stag to walk in step with her own horse. The Hart dug in its hooves and thrashed, massive antlers sawing the air. Everything happened at once. Cullen saw the panic settling into the rider, the way she clutched to her reigns and searched for help as the Hart arched its neck and –

_How_ in all of the Maker's holy wisdom had he allowed a creature to sound so horrifying?

The Hart screeched. It was like an elk, or a dawkspawn version of one. Several of Cullen's men faltered on their way to assist and the beast started bucking. Hooves and antlers thrashed. The rider was pulled from her mount and her horse added her pale whinny to the chaos, yanked about by the stag she was tethered to.

Cullen ordered his men back, some removed physically to make space for the animal to calm. He didn't want to risk one of his men getting bludgeoned or skewered but this was getting out of hand. The horse kept wailing, kicking now and terrified. It was an ugly sound and so similar to the noises he knew men made in cages.

Thinking of Kinloch and Kirkwall was not a luxury Cullen could entertain. Nor did he want to. They'd stolen and painted so much of his life. He wanted to give them no more of himself but horror stained the air.

Sword unsheathed, Cullen stepped forward with a prayer of protection at his lips when he spotted her; the Harold. Lavellan was sprinting down the steps, a flurry of snow at her heels. The cowl she wore in chilled air of Haven blew off her head. Both she ignored, foxing through gaps in the crowd to the two beasts. She cut the horse loose with a quick flick of a skinning blade.

"Commander, the mare," she told him and Cullen moved. The horse flailed, eyes all whites as she bolted. Cullen only just grabbed the reigns, coaxing the mare to him as he helped control her panic. When he was satisfied she wouldn't jerk away again he shot a look over his shoulder.

Lavellan was bowing. To the stag. From the waist. Her neck was bore to the beast, her palms up and her posture relaxed like she was sunbathing. Cullen had seen elves and mages bowing all his life but he'd never seen one so. . .appreciative before.

Her bow would never do in Orlais – too unrefined. Or Ferelden – too giving. Despite that it was plain to see the genuine respect in the action.

He'd never seen her bow before. The action wasn't one he liked, for an odd reason. Perhaps it was because she was the Harold, one who should bow before the Maker and no one else. Especially not a half wild animal. Whatever the reason didn't matter because it _worked_.

The stag stilled. Its stance was ridged as ever but the ears were straight up, attentive instead of defensive. It tilted its head, watching the Harold from the side dead on for its eyes. All the commotion around them hushed and soon only the wind made noise. Lavellan spoke in elvahn, quiet, sacred sounding words Cullen couldn't begin to make sense of. When at last the mare calmed the stag bowed its own head, all but kissing the ground. Both Lavellan and the Hart rose and the Harold crossed the rest of the way and embraced it like a lost friend, wrapping her arms around the plush fur of its neck.

Another moment later and Lavellan was ushering the Hart forward like any other mount. Cullen barked at his men to get back to work. Lavellan took the reins of the mare from him with a nod and marched both back to the stables. The smiths went back to hammering and the rest of Haven filtered back to the jobs preparing for a world where demons fell out of the sky.

. . .

"How is the Hart settling in?" Cullen asked when he had time to spare. Lavellan perched on the fence of the stable's paddock. Though there were few mounts they were already pushed for space, thanks to the ones that had been gifted to the Inquisition like the Hart. Lavellan was wrapped in a thick coat, her hood pulled tight and gloves over her hands. She offered meal to the Hart but the animal wasn't interested, more preoccupied with taunting the Charger the next stable over. Without its armor on, the Charger hardly looked like the same animal, tail cropped short and almost gamily looking. And of course it wanted no part of the Hart's mischief.

"I think he'll do fine," Lavellan replied. She pushed off the fence and tossed the meal into the paddock. If the Hart didn't want it, birds would. "How are your men?"

"Leliana stresses that they are _our_ soldiers."

"With how much you dote on them?" Was that humor in her voice? "Leliana has her secret force. Those soldiers are yours and they know it."

Cullen tried to quell the flash of pride that brought him. He kept his smile tight to cover it. "Before, when you calmed the Hart. . .what was it you said to it?"

It almost felt like a spell. He'd heard Dalish would communicate with halla but he'd never seen it firsthand.

Then he looked up and saw the expression Lavellan was giving him. Her head was tilted, watching him, and the emotion in her eyes was one he couldn't read. It was hardly fair. Her eyes were narrow to begin with but when she squinted like that he couldn't make out much but the color of them, white-green like fade-fire.

"Sorry, was that rude? You don't have to answer that. Wait – you don't have to answer that either." Maker take him now.

Since Varric's reveals, one that Lavellan had been exiled from her clan and two, she found him attractive (which had never been an issue in the past. Cullen knew many found qualities about him attractive. He couldn't understand why it made his chest tight and his heart lurch now, with her) Cullen hadn't seen much of the Harold.

Traveling to the Hinterlands wasn't an easy jot into the countryside, despite the roads they'd forged through the Frostback. Since her return Lavellan hadn't found time to study with him and Cullen focused his attention on keeping the peace amongst the templars and clerics in their camp. She'd be heading for Val Royeaux in the morning so this was his one chance to take a moment of her time.

He didn't want to fuddle that up.

"No harm taken, Commander." Lavellan brushed off her hands. "It wasn't anything special. I apologized for any unkindness done to him in his travels and hoped he'd get a meal before leaving. Playing the role of good hostess to a weary friend." She glanced back at the Hart and grinned. "He's decided to stay."

Cullen blinked. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"And it's going to stay."

"We have good food."

Cullen laughed and to his astonishment, so did she. It wasn't any sort of mystifying sound, just a snort of air that has her covering her face for shear embarrassment. Cullen snorted at that and had to look away, feeling just as foolish. It left Cullen feeling warm down in his gut, knowing she made this sound because of him.

The Hart interrupted them, craning its neck out to nip at Lavellan and make that awful sound again. She kept laughing as she reached out to scratch the anima's jaw.

There were so many other things he wanted to ask her. What did her marking mean? Why did she not pray to the elvan gods? Was she truly Andraste's Harold? Did she have any belief in the Maker at all?

But watching her, his cheeks still flushed, the smile still lingering on his lips, he knew this was not the time. He also knew, watching her in the fading light, why she made him so uncomfortable.

She was Solona and Meredith wrapped in one. Apparently ripping open the sky wasn't enough for the Maker.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lessons from the Great and Powerful **

The first order of business for Vivienne was to settle into her new home. The Chantry would do fine. Most Chantries were built under a similar plan, Ferelden Chantries more so than others. When a people had little to spare there wasn't much room for creativity and reinterpretation. The Chantry wasn't just familiar, it was well fortified, warm (or as warm as a stone building in the frigid mountains could be) and best of all, well guarded. The templars congregated there when they weren't training at the bottom of the hill with the Commander and it did well to calm Vivenne's nerves to see them. She'd been months now without a proper templar and though she would not fall to a demon's seduction, it was reassuring to know there were steps in place should possession take place.

There was no room for overconfidence in this world. Not any longer.

Second on Vivienne's list was to begin the Herald's training. Immediately. She was glad to meet the Herald when the Inquisition was still young and impressionable because serious changes were required. For one, the girl wandered about without much of a care as so who saw her frolicking. They were far from Orlais but members of The Game were never out of reach of anyone in Thedas. Orlais thought the Herald as a thuggish, poorly mannered wildling. It would do their Inquisition ill to have her perpetuating such rumors by climbing on top of buildings and rummaging through the dirt for coins.

Worse yet was her magic. For someone with such an important title on their shoulders, Pol had a rudimentary understanding of her abilities. She knew how to use barriers and cast an ice spell. That was it. Those weren't tools to win a battle, let alone a war. To make matters worse she walked unguarded most of the time. Her magic pool was shallow, hardly uncovered and absent unless one focused on it. If they weren't careful she could veer off into hedge mage territory and that was another explosion waiting to happen. Thedas had already had one too many explosions when it came to Chantry icons.

Thus began her tutoring. Vivienne made sure to stress the importance of it not just to the Herald but to her advisers as well. The knowledge she had to pass down was invaluable. Thankfully, all saw the importance in it and worked around five days straight for Vivienne to teach. It wasn't enough time. A life time wouldn't be enough but they were at war and private sessions with the last loyal First Enchanter were something they could afford to spend time on.

"Do not slouch, Darling. It is unbecoming. You are a symbol now. You must emulate what the people imagine a symbol to be."

Pol puffed out a sigh, going straight as a maypole. It wasn't a stance she could sustain. It put too much pressure on the back. Vivienne kept from telling her that. It would be better for her to learn it firsthand. She would remember it that way.

"What does posture have to do with spellwork?" she asked and soon lost her posture. Vivienne clucked her tongue and the Herald adjusted herself again, this time taking a stance that had poise, yes, but sustainability. Vivienne smiled.

"Everything. Magic isn't something you do. It's something you are. It flows through you and heeds your call. If you aren't careful it can control you and lead you astray. Every action we take shapes oneself and in doing so, one's magic."

Vivienne called a flame to her hand. Pol tenses but watched. The girl had a reluctance toward fire that Vivienne had seen a hundred times over in apprentices who had come into magic through abuse, setting their abuser a flame. It was a poor way for anyone to be introduced to their life. Shame she hadn't been found by a Circle earlier.

"Respect of magic is important, but it is equally important if not more so _not_ to allow that respect to become fear. Fear and overconfidence have been the death of mages the world over. Do not let either control you."

She extinguished the flame and gestured for Pol to do like, as they'd practiced.

Eyes closed, palms open, Pol summoned a flurry of snow to her hand. Vivienne frowned.

"Specializations are good but the basics must be mastered first."

"Not fire. I won't use it." When she looked the Herald's eyes were something dangerous. Vivienne's first thought was of those demon possessed wolves they found in the Farmlands. She sent a pulse of energy to subtly study Pol, if only to reassure herself that the Herald was not possessed but she brushed it aside.

Pol stood then and walked to one of the few paintings in the room. It was of an idyllic mountain, Andraste and a mabari of all things praying in the foreground. The quiet peace of the picture didn't translate well into the Herald's mood.

"Before I came into magic, I was training to become a hunter. Quick, clean kills. We pray before each arrow is loosed, pray that it hits its mark and pay that the animal finds its path to death with ease. Being burned alive or shocked to death couldn't be farther from what I was taught all my life."

". . .You are a mage, my dear. Not a hunter."

"I know that!" Pol snapped and it shocked both of them. Pol faced the painting immediately, shamed. It was the first time Vivienne had heard her voice raised. By her reaction, it wasn't a common occurrence for Pol either. "Ice hurts, yes, but it deadens soon and most die sleeping. And barriers feel right. When I cast a barrier over someone, that's what it feels like I'm supposed to do."

"Both of which we can strengthen in you and develop to a level that will be envied by any mage in Thedas," Vivienne soothed. "After you learn the basics. It doesn't matter if you won't use them. The groundwork for these skills build your approach to magic and will help channel your energy."

Sighing, Pol turned around again and sat when Vivienne gestured.

. . .

On the third day Pol asked, "Does the Chantry teach about Tethers?"

Vivienne glanced at her. They were supposed to be concentrating on unlocking Pol's magic. Lessons on Andrastian history and proper etiquette only went so far. If there was anything to be gained from their time together, developing Pol's magic was priority.

She sighed and moved to pour herself a drink. Her back was getting stiff from sitting on the floor. Though their room was private, it wasn't comfortable.

"I take it this commonality amongst the Dalish?"

"No," Pol said quickly. "Well, not anymore. Solas. . . He said it still occurs but very rarely, and not to the degree of what it used to be."

Vivienne took an elegant sip of her drink, savored the taste, then downed the rest. She's poured very little for a reason. The next she'd be more careful with.

"Perhaps it would be better if you first explained what a 'Tether' is."

"A soulbond. We lost the name for it but it describes the relationship of the gods, of Elgar'nan's vengeance being cooled by Mythal's compassion, Falon'Din and his unending devotion to his brother Dirthamen. Or Andruil hunting while her sister Sylaise kept to the hearth so there would be a home to come back to. It describes a bond that is good. Can be good. Or it can destroy the one if the other chooses."

Vivienne gave Pol a glass. "No, the Chantry doesn't teach of such a thing."

Pol nodded and drank; her thoughts still away from their studies. "My Keeper said it wasn't something immediate, that it was grown and strengthened like any living thing. But those who had it were stronger for it. Connected. One's strength was the other's weaknesses. It stopped spirits from bothering the couple. A little part of their soul was in the other and when together, they were whole enough that no spirit would bother tempting them. There would be nothing it could offer."

"That, my dear, is a very dangerous line of thinking." Pol's eyes came back to her. She kept her tone civil but wanted to make sure she understood the danger of this foolishness. Apostates. What would they think of next? "Demons want nothing more than to experience our world. Often their only choice is to see it through our eyes, using out bodies. Such a bond cannot be broken, if it doesn't mutilate the mage to begin with. The Anders who destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall, he was an abomination who allowed a demon into his body. Vigilance is the only thing that can keep you from such a fate, which I will teach you."

Nodding, Pol set the empty glass aside. Vivienne knew she didn't have the girl's full attention but she would have to do with what she had. If the Inquisitor wanted to dream of fairytales there was little Vivienne could do to sway her. Teaching could only go so far if the recipient didn't accept it. This war with the templars was proof of that fact.

. . .

She _felt_ it when Pol's magic unlocked. Energy without color stole Vivienne's breath and snuffed out the candles. Her skin crawled with the touch of static. Best of all she could sense Pol now, feel her well of mana, though that was obscured by the sharp sensation of the Fade bitten cut on her palm. Small victories at least. They didn't have to worry about the Herald erupting into magical anomalies because of backed up magic.

She was about to congratulate Pol when the door was thrown open, the Commander standing at the ready with his hand on his scabbard. He searched the room for hint of some monster before settling on the two.

"Is everything alright?"

"Have you been standing out there long?" Pol asked and the Commander flushed.

"Perfectly, fine. Thank you," Vivienne replied to him, casting a look at the pair. Neither one of them was looking at the other, except when they were, which was when they both looked up and then away.

Interesting, though that relationship would end tragically as all mage – templar relations did. Even in this reforming world, some things were absolute. When they put an end to the Breach, no doubt the Herald would be monitored for the rest of her life. And if Vivienne's goal came to fruition, she would be put into a circle. She'd have a high position, thanks to her deeds, but mages belonged where they were not a danger to the general public. If anything was to be gained from this war, that was it.

"I wasn't. . .I mean. Yes I was discussing Orlais with Josephine when I felt that pulse. Was that you?"

"Yes?" Pol glanced to Vivienne then straightened. "Yes."

Cullen stared, searching. Templars always made that expression when encountering new magic, though Vivienne knew the Commander's senses were blunted. He wasn't the first templar she'd seen deny lyrium. Poor fool.

"A break it seems is in order," Vivienne said. "We will reconvene in a half hour's time."

If she were a different woman, she might have been insulted by the speed at which the Inquisitor stood.

"Magic's good, then? It's not going to bleed out?"

"There's always the potential. I would suggest resting, my dear. That will shorten the risk. We will focus on honing your abilities when you return. You'll find you have a deeper well to pull from now."

The Herald nodded to them both before walking out, no doubt to speak with that elvan apostate. He'd been rather cross with their arrangement, insisting he knew how best to help the Herald. Pah. As if Vivienne was inexperienced with training mages new to their craft.

Cullen watched Pol as she left, his expression one of miserable affection, before refocusing on Vivienne.

"I take it the lessons are going well."

She crossed the room for a wash cloth and cleaned her hands in a basin of water. "The Herald came into magic late in life. The switch hasn't been an easy one."

"Ah," the Commander said. The templar in him was analyzing that information. Late bloomers were often the most dangerous and dissatisfied. They were at a greater risk of demons because of their naiveté with them. And they were _restless_.

"Obviously I don't need to remind you to keep an eye on her."

"Actually. . .I don't think that's necessary."

Vivienne stopped. She pulled the cool cloth from her face and stared at the Commander like she'd never heard someone disagree with her. Whatever expression she bore changed Cullen's expression from one of wariness to one of firm decision.

"No. I don't think Lavellan will be a problem."

And the daft man said it with a smile.

Were she younger she might have gaped at him. Of all the members of the Inquisition, she believed the Commander would understand the danger she posed. And here she thought him an intelligent man.

"And what would be your reasoning for 'thinking' that she, an apostate mage is not a danger." She couldn't keep the scathing tone from her voice. The Commander stopped smiling and his stance shifted like _she_ was the unreasonable one.

". . .It's hard to explain. She doesn't feel dangerous."

"Which is why you came running when her power manifested. You and I both know a mage doesn't need to have any sort of superior ability to become dangerous. Weak mages fall to corruption and give way to demons."

Cullen was frowning now. Good. Maybe he would finally come to sense. "Honestly, I don't think she will. It. . . she feels different."

_Feelings_.

The fate of the world rested on _feelings_.

"I would reconsider your stance on lyrium," she said, chin raised. Cullen paled and his hands squeezed like they were trying to hold tight to something. "Your ability to discern danger is slipping, and that proves poor for a man in your position."

"Now – "

She didn't give him the chance. Vivienne gathered her staff and left the room, the Commander's words falling at her feet. She would make sure the Herald wouldn't be a danger, even if she had to do it herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Subject of Debate**

Varric took one look at him and handed his ale flask over. Cullen drank, relishing the burn for a moment before passing the flask back. The dwarf drank some and gestured for Cullen to speak. He had no idea where to begin.

"She's reading better, now," the dwarf said to spare Cullen. "We find letters and notes all the time. Used to be she'd get one of us to read it for her but now she insists on doing it herself. I think she wants to try her hand at writing some."

His tone was fond and Cullen was pleased that their efforts were working but dread was still lodged in his chest and dripping down into his lungs. Varric offered the flask again but Cullen refused.

"So, I imagine what you have to tell me is something pretty incriminating, given that your first choice otherwise would be the Seeker or one of your kin."

Up in the mountains, weather didn't change all that much. It got worse from time to time but it was generally the same temperature and pattern as always. Midday was the worst. Cullen preferred storms to it, how bright the snow was and the false sense of heat. All around them the Inquisition was at work. It was loud, noisy as any overgrown city. And the sunlight seemed to amplify everything. Cullen knew this would be the best time to talk to Varric. Anyone could overhear them in the dead of night but in the harsh sunlight no one would bother to attempt.

"What's your stance on mages?"

Huffing a quick, bitter sigh, Varric glanced away from him. "Some of my best friends have been mages. Some of the worst, too. It's complicated."

"And your stance on how to treat them?"

"Shit. I don't know. I don't want to be the one to decide this. Keep me as far away from that as possible."

Neither said anything for a while, Cullen too busy putting his thoughts together and Varric working too hard to tare his own apart.

"I used to only see the worst in them," Cullen said at last. Varric looked up at him from drinking his flask. "Said more than a few horrible things about them."

"I know. I was there when you told Hawke that you can't treat mages like people." Cullen felt the bottom of his stomach drop out but Varric was chuckling. "We had a good laugh about that later. And Hawke for some reason still liked you. He said you were 'a bit batty but the best of us are.' Jr and Blondie and even Aveline told him to stay clear from you but he still helped with your assignments. Hawke was like that. He could stare at a man, see all of his sins and still find something good. He didn't care how you felt personally about him; he wanted to help no matter what class you were from or race. At first I thought it was because he wanted coin but then he started giving his money away right and left and I realized that was just the person he was. And it got him into a dragon's weight in trouble."

The Arishock, Anders, and the countless other problems in Kirkwall that landed on Hawke's shoulders. Cullen thought of them all, compared them to his own responsibilities and fears. He didn't know how Hawke did it. No wonder the man went into hiding.

"That Dalish girl you were friends with. She was a blood mage, wasn't she?"

"Pol isn't one, if that's what you were worried about." Varric stared at him hard, his eyes angry and desperate looking. "She's different. Daisy was obsessed with learning more about her ancestors. It didn't end well for her. Pol hardly talks about being an elf. Too focused on closing the damn sky."

Cullen nodded and waited for Varric to finish scowling. "I ask because. . . until the battle with the Knight Commander, if I found the Inquisitor I would have captured her and brought her into the Circle. She wouldn't have faired well in the Gallows."

Wild mages never did well in Circles. Pol's thirst for knowledge and liberal view of human culture aside, she wouldn't adjust well. She liked sunlight too much. And Kirkwall in those last months would have made her Tranquil before she could have the chance to prove herself a threat. The thought made Cullen ill. He would have received a request for the Right and he would have signed it, as he always did when dangerous mages were involved. Her magic was uncontrollable, it would say. She was headed to become a hedge mage, too set in her ways to be properly trained. Either her magic would reform into something dangerous or she would become an abomination. Pol would have been branded and she would be ironing sheets by the afternoon with the other Tranquil.

"Then we can be thankful you never found her."

"Indeed." He felt like he was still trying to find his footing. Cullen didn't want to have this conversation. There was nothing he wanted more than the end it but his questions and doubts were chewing their way out his throat. "Meredith's path was folly. I understand that, now. We are born of the Maker and none of his children disserve to be treated as criminals because of how he crafted them. And yet the idea of mages living without a set of checks and balances . . ." The idea terrified him. His mind sprang images from his nightmares, of innocent children consumed by the fire of a rage demon, of blood magic rituals and animated corpses. "I have witnessed the worst mages can do. I should be guarded against them. I should be scared of what the Inquisitor can do but when I search myself, all I can find is respect for her."

There. It was out.

Varric was watching him, waiting for Cullen to say something more but the Commander didn't even know what to think now.

"So. . .your problem is that you think you should be scared of Pol but you're not."

"In shot words, yes." He was having trouble looking at Varric. A foolish sort of queasiness was about him but Cullen stood straight and endured. Varric laughed.

"Listen, Cullen. I don't know what to tell you. Some of the things Hawke did scared the shit out of me. You know he exploded people? On purpose? Nice as a lamb outside of combat but once you started fighting him he would slap something he called, 'Walking Bomb' onto a person and, well, you get the picture."

"I'm familiar with the technique." It was a Spirit spell, one of the more dangerous and cruel. The first time he'd seen it used was on a templar before the man could finish smiting a rebelling mage. No one noticed till he complained of chest pains after the mage was slain. By then it was all they could do to keep their distance from him. Cullen spent the rest of the day cleaning gore off his armor. It was such a contrast from the diplomatic persona of Hawke that Cullen knew and Varric spoke of that he had a hard time reshaping the image of Hawke in his mind.

"The point is that Hawke did some things that freaked me out and I still trusted him. Same for Daisy and Blondie. I'm pretty sure all mages have a 'freak the hell out of the normal people' spell, Pol included. It doesn't mean that they're not good people. For all that Hawke did I never felt safer than when he was at my back. And Daisy, she was the sweetest thing in Thedas."

"Yes, and two out of those three mages are malificar, one responsible for war."

"Not Hawke." He said it like a man clinging to an edge. Varric drank from his flask again. "I trusted Hawke and after a while I stopped worry about what he could do. Maybe you're already there with Pol. You guys read together almost every day. And when you're not you're making important decisions for the Inquisition. It'd make sense that you feel comfortable with her. It's just taking your head a while to catch up with your body. "

He wanted to believe Varric but the man had terrible odds when it came to mages. Becoming comfortable with a mage _was_ the concern. He should be cautious, careful with his actions and watchful of her's and yet when she was near he felt bolstered by her presence, capable of commanding the Inquisition and righting the wrongs of the world. He felt powerful but he knew that was as sure a path to ruin as Meredith's.

Cullen turned from Varric and headed back to his men at the training yard. Cassandra would have been a better choice to vent to. She had a more objective view of mages. She would have told him to keep to his knowledge because the heart always lead astray. Varric's words only left him in more tangles.

Pol was the Inquisitor, yes, but she was also a mage. Even if she was Andraste's Herald she could not go unchecked.

When he reached the training yard he found the Inquisitor and Cassandra laughing themselves into tears over some shared joke. They noticed him and waved him over. He'd never need Cassandra joyful before and he knew at once any chance of objectivity he had with her was gone.

"Cullen, Cullen you'll never guess what we just figured out," the Inquisitor said and the smile at her lips had his heart leaping into his throat. Meredith before her fall was a strong and righteous woman. Solona was brave and had a laugh like bells. Somehow Pol was both of these women and more, so much more.

Cullen knew he was doomed. It'd just taken him this long to put it all together.


	6. Chapter 6

**Apostate **

If there was one truth about apostates it was that like attracted like. Pol returned from Redcliff with a Trevinter run-away and half a dozen of the Rebel Mages best. They had equal partnership. _Equal_. The thought had Cullen in knots. Meredith's rule was not a successful model on how to deal with magic. He knew that and would give his own bitter testimony to any who claimed otherwise. But these mages were no hypothetical or an abstract theory. There were criminals and terrorists. And when he met the group at the gates of Haven one recognized him.

The man stopped dead in his march, body stiff like he'd been petrified. Another mage mumbled into him but the first didn't move. Terror consumed his eyes. Though dressed in singed, dirty robes that were attractive in a distant life, the black feather pinned to his breast marked him. He was one of Anders'.

Several things happened at once. The mages drew his stave and sharp blue light gathered, hot and bright like an explosion. Cullen pulled his nearest man behind him and drew a blade. It started a chain that had all the soldiers at arms, the mages reacting in kind. Cullen was surging forward to strike the mages nearest Pol when he realized how utterly foolish he was being. Cullen stopped. He was playing right into the mage's narrative. They were expecting an attack from a templar, especially one who used to serve Meredith. But he was not that man anymore. And he was no longer bound to the order. His command came from the Maker, Andraste and her Herald.

Sheathing his sword, Cullen turned his attention to Pol. He prayed the mages had sense enough to back down.

Weary and worse off than the Rebel mages, Pol smiled for him. It was a small gesture; all but lost in the harshness of her face but Cullen saw it.

"Commander," she said, managing to look noble while stained in blood and dirt from her travels.

"Inquisitor," he returned and gestured for her to join him into Haven. They had much to discuss. Arrangements to be made for the mages joining them and putting an end to the breach.

. . .

That night he found her in the Chantry, close to a hearth. Red light and black shadows took their turns dancing over her with the flicker of the flame. She was squinting hard at the book in her hands. He wasn't sure if that was because of the lighting or subject matter. Most of Haven was asleep. Now and again you'd hear a cough or an echoed whisper but in all it was quiet. Cullen felt like he was back in the Circle and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Pol noticed him and gestured for him to come forward. Cullen couldn't refuse. He should have, should have gone back down to the barracks where his men were sleeping. He should have turned in for sleep hours ago because tomorrow Pol was setting out with the mages to seal the breach. Being on the eve of such a day had him wanting to be on his feet, training or fighting or some manner of action.

Cullen took the chair across from Pol and sat. Breath rushed out of him and he didn't realize how tired he was until then. Pol said nothing. She nodded to him and continued reading.

"Looks like you're got a knack for it now. The reading, that is."

His voice sounded loud and harsh in the stillness of the Chantry. Pol's eyes flit from the page to him and he could see that she was amused. It had taken him a few weeks of working alongside her but Cullen could read her features now.

"Yes, and you to thank for that. I'm afraid I won't need your tutoring anymore."

"Good." Her eyebrows flashed up and he felt like an idiot. "I mean not good. I mean – good that you know how to read now but –"

Why was he so troubled with articulating his thoughts?

"I understand," Pol cut him off and he saw that she was still amused. He felt his blush staining his nose. "You're a good teacher."

"Hush." He waved that notion off. "I've had experience and you were willing to learn."

Why did that sound like he meant something else? Maker have pity on him, why was he so bad at this? Discussing the Inquisition was easy. Teaching her was easy. He'd been doing it for weeks. Speaking to her in normal conversation was like prying the wings off a living bee. If he was too cautious he wouldn't get anywhere and if he put too much effort into it he wound up stung. The whole business was messy and uncomfortable.

"All the same then, thank you."

She returned to her book and Cullen to his thoughts. When they weren't talking, when they simply shared the same space like this, his anxieties drained out of him. Was it because of her barrier magic? Since the day she'd bolstered him with it he'd felt caught in her energy. Perhaps Varric was right. He trusted her. And tomorrow she would seal the Breech. Only the Maker knew what would become of her then.

"Humor me," he began, sitting straighter. "After all this, what is it you plan on doing."

"Oh," she said with a sigh. "Going to bed. I should already be in it but I couldn't keep my eyes closed long enough. I haven't been this anxious for morning since the day I received my Vallaslin."

"No I – ehm. I meant after you seal the breech, should we succeed in that endeavor."

Her eyes went alit with surprise for a time before a careful mask hooded them. He recognized the expression from when she was in her lessons with Vivienne or speaking with dignitaries. Seeing it now, when calm had just settled left him feeling jarred.

"That would be dependent upon what becomes of the Inquisition."

"I'm sorry…?"

"Mother Giselle said the original Inquisition knew when to put down their swords. So they did and they became the Templar Order. When do you think the end of the Inquisition will come? Not immediately, not after we seal the breech. But when the demons stop terrorizing villagers they'll want Haven back, then the land we've claimed. Without a proper home the Inquisition will come into scrutiny and disassembled, most likely by the Orlesians. And at the end of the day a mage is still a mage. As lovely a picture Vivienne paints of her gilded cage, I have little interest in it."

". . .You intend to run."

She closed her book and watched him. He felt bare in that gaze. His hands balled and if he was jarred before he was reeling now. Somehow he'd never imagined the Inquisition falling to pieces like that. Abominations running loose with the addition of the Rebel Mages, yes, and an eventual war; but not torn apart and told to stand down like that. Josephine would never allow it. Leliana would find a solution. The Inquisition was his home. Cullen didn't want to lose it. Not again. Never again.

"Cullen, you have been exceedingly kind with me and more helpful than you know. I can't imagine anyone being our Commander. And I find myself wanting to be honest in a way I know is foolish." Her smile was bitter now and he hated seeing it. He matched it and hoped she understood he knew that foolishness all too well. She looked away and shifted in her seat. The intensity of the moment was gone. "Did you know I was exiled from my clan?"

Her laughter was unkind. He winced hearing it. "I'm not used to staying in one place for long. Being an apostate makes it difficult to set roots. Hiding will be a trifle more difficult now, with the Herald of Andraste becoming so well known but I expect in a few months and some alterations to my looks, I'll just another unrecognizable nobody."

The idea was absurd. "I doubt anyone in Thedas could say you're a nobody."

And she smiled. Like he'd said something sweet. "All the more reason to leave, then. Being famous and elvan isn't a good thing. Doubly so for apostates."

_But you're not an apostate_, he found himself wanting to say. She was the Herald. Their Herald. She said she couldn't imagine anyone else leading their men but he couldn't imagine the Inquisition without her. Half their recruits were men she'd rescued in the field.  
>"You're wrong, you know. About the Inquisition falling to pieces."<p>

"Oh? Do share what gives you such confidence, Commander."

"Third time's the charm." He would not lose his home again.

". . .I didn't take you for a man of luck, Commander." Cullen grit his teeth when he smiled, the coin in his pocket feeling heavier than ever.

"It's a human idiom. Born from stubbornness and hope."

"Well, the Inquisition could use both."

They fell silent again after that, watching the fire as it started to die. Down the hall, one of the sisters was coughing like something cold crawled into her chest. Pol started to fidget. No doubt she wanted to help but the sister was being taken care of already. There was little she could do but wait for the morning.

"How soon will you leave?" he asked because he had to. Not out of formality or because of his role as an advisor but because he was a mortal man.

Pol wasn't looking at him when she answered. "Soon. I can't give you the day. Can I ask you a favor?" Her eyes were sharp and green like fire from nightmares. Cullen's breath stole from him. "Don't come after me. Don't send anyone after me. Let me slip away."

It sounded like he was sending her to death. And perhaps he was. They had no idea what would happen when they sealed the Breech. Perhaps what the Fade had spared it would take back.

"Are you taking anyone with you? Is that why you chose the Rebel Mages?"

She was glaring now. He only asked because he didn't like the thought of her alone. The world was a dangerous one and unkind to lonely women.

"I fought to save the village of Redcliff. The Mages were a welcome addition. If the Templars would come they would be welcome too but they made their choice. Besides, one mage can hide easier."

Ah. So that was it. He'd hoped Solas or even that Tervinter – Dorian? Might go with her but Pol was set on spiriting herself into the night alone. Cullen stared at his hands. They were fists in his lap.

"The Inquisition will miss you, if this is to be goodbye."

"No, after tomorrow there will be no need for the Herald of Andraste. Not when the sky is clear."

"I didn't mean the Herald of Andraste. I meant you, Pol." He looked up and she turned to him, surprised and still. She looked so much younger then. She always did when her face wasn't the stern one she used for politics. "From the Storm Coast to the Fallow Mire, Ferelden owes itself to what you have done for it. Not because of that mark on your hand but because of your efforts and sacrifice. We have members of the Inquisition who were recruited by your own hand, men and women who plead alliance to you because you rescued them from death. There isn't a farmer in Ferelden or noble in Orlais who doesn't know your name. Not because you are the Herald but because you helped shape the Inquisition, more than any of us. You are our face to the common folk and royal alike. And it will be a sad day to see you go."

With that he stood and bid her goodnight. Pol's eyes followed him. He could feel them at his back. These days Cullen's faith in the Maker was strained but he prayed that Pol would reconsider. Her place was here, just as much as his was. And that aside. . . he would miss their debate and conversations.


End file.
